


Trinkets

by ushauz



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ushauz/pseuds/ushauz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morrigan strives to be a better mother than Flemeth ever was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trinkets

The town market was bustling with far too many eyes. Morrigan bristled. The Templars’ paranoia had only increased over the years, and with her previous safe area compromised… They were here for supplies and little else. The Free Marches were no more safe than any other area she had visited so far, and she desperately needed some place safe for Kieran. Safe, but with people; she would not raise Kieran in some swamp away from the entire world with naught but birds for company. Still, ‘twas unsafe here, and they had to move quickly.

Food she could obtain, but never enough to eat comfortably, and especially not for a child still growing. Kieran also required new clothes having already outgrown the ones he had. Morrigan may have been a capable witch, but she could not conjure clothes from trees. Light, fire, shelter, healing, all things she could accomplish herself, but not everything. She had acquired money of late; there were some bandits that thought her (and her child) easy prey. At least they had the good grace to do it at night while Kieran slept. She would rather not kill in front of her own child if she had to.

Morrigan was debating on the price of oats and whether to buy apples (winter was coming as this was one of the last opportunities to get them fresh), when there was a small tug on her skirt.

“Mom?” Kieran asked. He had always been an unusually quiet child. She wasn’t sure if that was the boy’s personality or the soul of the Old God or the constant running without other children to talk to.

“Yes Kieran?” Morrigan asked. Instead of responding, Kieran tugged her skirt, leading her to another stall. Displayed was an assortment of carved wooden animals with shiny pebbles for eyes. Kieran reached up and grasped one, a toy pony. Its legs were far too long, its eyes gleamed disturbingly, and yet he smiled at it all the same.

“Can I have it?” he asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Morrigan stared at the toy, chest constricting in on itself. It was such a simple thing and far too large for Kieran to conceivably carry and almost certainly ridiculously overpriced. Morrigan steadied her breath before kneeling down to look her child in the eyes. “Kieran, you know we have to leave soon, and we only have so much room in the packs,” she said as gently as she could.

Kieran’s face fell.

For some stupid reason, Morrigan felt her throat choke. “I am not saying no, Kieran. ‘Tis a gangly thing you have picked out, and it means we might not have room for other things. We can do our best to wrap it in clothing, but it might break along the way, or should we be pursued, it might accidentally get left behind. I do not mean to discourage you, but these are things we have to consider in case they happen.” She paused for a moment, breathed again. “Do you really want it?” Morrigan asked.

Kieran nodded, clutching the horse closer to his chest. “Please?”

Morrigan stood and faced the merchant. “How much?”


End file.
